A Center Story: The Land of Counterpane
by lilyrowan1
Summary: What happens when Matthew is confined to bed, and George confides a secret? An (after) Christmas story in the Centerverse.


_Happy New Year! I hope everyone had wonderful holidays!_

_This is an (after)Christmas story set in the Centerverse. For those who haven't read The Center of My Heart, here's a little background: Jack Forrester is Matthew's oldest and best friend, the best man at his wedding. He and his wife, Alice, become great friends of Matthew and Mary. They have a son, Teddy, Matthew's godson, a daughter Charlotte, and, later, a son James.__ In Chapter 29 of Center, while Matthew is going through therapy to learn how to walk again, Teddy sees him for the first time in his wheelchair, at first upset, but then understands that, just as his daddy was injured in the war but is still his daddy, Matthew in his chair is still his Uncle Matthew. That moment with Teddy and other moments with the Forrester children, play their part here. __ And in the Epilogue of Center, there's mention that the Forresters will be visiting Downton in August-th__at's the visit mentioned in this story._

* * *

December 27, 1923

"Daddy?"

Matthew turned his head toward the door, now open a bare crack. "Georgie?" As the door opened wider, Matthew held out an arm, smiling. "Have you come to keep me company?"

George nodded, crossing the room quickly. But the almost four-year-old stopped at the end of the bed and regarded Matthew silently, his blue eyes wide, his face serious, and Matthew had a flash of that moment in the park, years ago, when Teddy first saw him in his wheelchair.

"I'm sorry that I won't be able to play with the train today," Matthew apologized. A small wooden train and miniature village, with buildings, houses, people and animals, had immediately become George's favorite Christmas present, occupying hours of his time, often joined by Matthew, since Christmas morning. "My back is giving me a spot of bother, and I have to stay in bed."

"Mummy told Wally you can't get out of bed," George stated, his voice just above a whisper.

Well, that was true.

.

Mary had kissed his forehead, then sat up, shrugging on her kimono. "I hope Robbie didn't keep Wally up with his teething. All he wanted last night was to be held. Every time he fell asleep, and one of us started to get up to put him in his cot, he'd whimper piteously."

Matthew, lying on his back, eyes still closed, mumbled. "Poor little chap, just like George with his first teeth, the same age, too. You should have come and gotten me to take a turn." He had been worn out after playing with the children in the snow and Boxing Day festivities and gone to bed early. "If he's still fretful today, let me keep him some and give you two a rest."

Mary shoved her feet into her slippers. "I will definitely take you up on that offer," she laughed, as she went into the bathroom to relieve herself and brush her teeth.

Sitting in a rocker holding seven-month-old Robbie seemed very appealing to Matthew—even after a good night's sleep, he felt he just couldn't get out of bed yet. He had played long and hard with the children yesterday, but this was more than tired. He felt immobilized. Finally, he opened his eyes and threw back the covers and tried to sit up.

"Mary!"

"Jussaminnit," she burbled. She finished brushing, then rinsed her mouth.

"_Mary!"_

"I'm coming, I'm coming. What—" She stopped short, looking at the stricken face of her husband, then rushed to his side. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I can't move. I mean, I can't get up."

It had happened three times before: once when George was just a under year old; again when Mary was pregnant with Catherine; the last a couple of months after Cathy was born, each time on a cold and damp day like this one, and after he had pushed himself too much. The muscles in his back had seized up. He was like an overturned turtle—he could move his arms and legs some, but he simply could not get up

The first time, they had both been terrified that something had gone very wrong. But after a visit from Clarkson and then Paul Phillips, his physio trainer, and the application of hot water bottles, much aspirin, and massage, it was clear the situation was a temporary one. And like the previous three times, he wasn't in much pain—hadn't even realized what was going on until he tried to get up—so very odd considering how incapacitating it was.

"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry!" Mary shook her head, frowning. "Too much playing Cowboy and Cowgirl," she couldn't help admonishing as she rang for Bates. "And you and Tom were out all yesterday afternoon with the children."

"It was a perfect snow for snowmen and snowballs—."

"And sledding," she noted pointedly. "And then, the hours you've spent on the floor with George, arranging and rearranging the village and train. No wonder this happened."

"That didn't—."

There was a knock, and Mary turned as the door to Matthew's dressing room opened. "Ah, yes, Bates. It's happened again, he can't get up. So, water bottles and aspirin—and fetch the wheelchair."

"I might not need it!" Matthew protested.

Bates and Mary looked at him skeptically.

"You always have when this happened before," Mary observed.

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared, sir," Bates added.

Matthew made a face, then exhaled through pursed lips. "Right."

Mary kissed his forehead. "I'll call Paul."

Matthew tapped her nose, managing a rueful smile. "Good. You know where to find me." He watched them leave, then closed his eyes. It had been two years since his last episode like this; it hadn't occurred to him it could still happen after all this time, and his thoughts churned: _Here you go again._ _You'll never really be over it, will you? One day playing with your children, the next day, flat on your back, you can't move, you'll need that damned chair again, you won't even be able to push yourself. _ That last had been so hard to endure, always bringing him back to those first days he had been propped up and wheeled to a window and left to look out. That feeling of helplessness started to overwhelm him. He strained once again to get himself up, the only result being that he had a pinging sensation as if spider webs were breaking across his back. "Dammit!" He made a strangled noise of disgust and frustration, then resigned himself to waiting for Bates to return with the hot water bottles and aspirin. As if he had any choice in the matter.

.

Matthew smiled reassuringly. "Well, yes it's true, right now I can't get out of bed. You know my back can give me trouble now and then. And this has happened before, you were too little then to remember, but in a few days, I'll be right as rain." He glanced at the clock. "Mummy says Mr. Phillips will be coming soon to fix me up."

But George stayed at the foot of the bed.

"George," Matthew said gently, taking in that his son seemed truly worried. "I'm really going to be fine."

"Mummy told Wally that when you get up, you're going to need a wheeled chair," he said, then pressed his lips together, his mouth turned down. "If you need a wheeled chair again, does that mean you have to learn to walk again?"

Matthew's mouth dropped open. Where in the world had this come from? How had George known that he had used a chair and had had to learn to walk? Had someone in the family or a servant said something? George knew that he had been a soldier in "The War," but he and Mary hadn't said anything to him about his being injured and his recovery—it wasn't that it was any kind of a big secret, but he wasn't even four for another month, barely old enough to understand. Should they have said something? Because, somehow, George knew, he did understand, some of it anyway, and apparently, it had upset him. This all flew through Matthew's mind in an instant, and he saw once more Teddy at the same age as George, looking at him in his chair, trying to believe this was still his Uncle Matthew. Was that the real reason why he hadn't talked to George about it? He held out his arm again. "Georgie, come here."

After a moment's hesitation, George, his eyes welling, came up to the head of the bed, and Matthew wrapped his arm around him.

"Georgie—."

"Daddy, I don't want you to need a wheeled chair again, I want you to be able to walk!" He swallowed hard, trying not to cry.

"George, I promise you, I can walk just fine. I might, well, I probably will need to use the wheelchair for a few days, not because I can't walk, but because my back is acting up. Do you believe me?"

George nodded, then quickly wiped his eyes. He didn't look very convinced.

Matthew patted the bed next to him. "Climb up here," he smiled.

George clambered up.

"Now pardner, I want you to tell me how you knew I had needed a wheelchair before and had to learn to walk again."

"So, it's the truth?"

Matthew took his hand up and gave it a squeeze. "Yes," he nodded. "It was before you were born. But it's the truth."

George sighed. "I didn't believe her."

"Who?"

"Charlotte."

"Charlotte? When did Charlotte—?" Matthew stopped, frowning. "Do you mean last August, when everyone came to visit?"

.

Charlotte and George were seated on the library window seat, two blond heads together, watching the rain hit the panes, seeing who could pick the fastest raindrop to trickle down the glass. Charlotte, at six, usually won.

With a great sigh, she turned around to take in the magnificent Downton library. Her mother, Aunt Mary, and George's grandmother were across the grand room by the fire, having tea. Teddy, eight years old, was curled up in a wingback, absorbed in reading about Long John Silver and Jim Hawkins_._ Her younger brother James, who, although two months older than George, still often took naps, and Catherine and three-month-old Robbie, were asleep in the nursery. She didn't know where their fathers and George's grandfather had got off to, but whatever they were doing, they hadn't taken them along. "This is boring," she pronounced.

The Forresters' visit had been one splendid day after the next, with picnics, boating, rambles, skipping stones, outdoor games of tag and hide-and-seek, until the dull thud of a rainy day. Charlotte sighed again, then turned to George. "I wish we could play Car. We always played it outside, but we could play it inside, your house is sooo big."

George frowned. "What's playing a car?"

Charlotte's eyes widened. "You mean you've never played it?"

George shook his head.

Charlotte sat up straighter, her blue eyes lighting up. "Oh, it's the best game! Uncle Matthew let us sit in his wheelchair, sometimes on his lap, sometimes just Teddy and me. Then Daddy would push us, and we'd pretend we were driving a car." She had only been two and a half when they had played all those times in the park across from the hospital, but it had all made such an impression on her: Uncle Matthew sitting in the strange chair; then later watching him walk with bars and sticks; and best of all, her daddy pushing them round and round the park in the wheelchair. Uncle Matthew had gotten the chair out once when they had visited after George was born, but never since. And her parents had made it very clear that she was _not_ to ask. George, however, could . . . "It's the best game," she repeated, giving him a hopeful look.

"What's a wheeled chair?" George asked, confused.

"It's a chair with wheels, silly. For people who can't walk."

"Daddy _can so_ walk!" George asserted stoutly.

"Well, of course he can walk now, but he couldn't then." She looked at him puzzled. "Don't you know?"

George shook his head, his mouth turned down.

"He hurt his back in the war, and his legs stopped working."

"I don't believe you!" George stated, very confused, blood pounding in his ears, understanding that this implied some kind of defect in his father. He narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to ask Aunt Alice."

Charlotte knew her mother would _not_ be happy that she had upset George, and she was beginning to wish she hadn't brought the game up at all. But she couldn't bear that George didn't believe her. "Don't do that," she said firmly, shaking her head. George stared at her, breathing hard, and she went on, "But it's true, George. I'm not making it up!" She glanced at their mothers and George's grandmother, who were laughing about something and weren't paying them any mind. "Teddy," she hissed, motioning him over.

Ted looked up from his book, his dark brown eyes registering his annoyance at being interrupted. "What?"

"Come here," she insisted, gesturing.

Teddy marked his place in _Treasure Island_, then came over to the window seat. "What?"

"Tell George I'm not making it up that Uncle Matthew hurt his back in the war, and his legs wouldn't work, and he had to learn how to walk again, and he had metal bars on his legs, and he used funny sticks, and then just sticks, and he let us play Car in his wheelchair." It all came out in a breathless whisper.

Teddy took in how upset this recitation was making George, whose cheeks had gotten very red, and his eyes very teary. He clapped George on the shoulder. "Don't pay her any mind. Your daddy's just fine, isn't he?"

George nodded.

"Well, then, you see, nothing to be worried about, right?"

George nodded again. Charlotte started to protest, but Teddy gave her quelling look and mouthed, _"Shut up."_

"Come on, George," Teddy smiled, taking his hand. "Let's look at that book of animal pictures your grandfather showed me yesterday."

George gave Charlotte a wide berth for the rest of that afternoon and evening. But the sun shone the next day, and every day after for the remainder of the Forresters' visit, and Charlotte was extra nice to George, and he decided that she was sorry for making up the whole story about his father not being able to walk—look how his father ran after them, and picked them up and threw them in the air!—and the children all had a wonderful time together.

.

"Yes," nodded George. "When they came to visit. On the rainy day. Charlotte wanted to play Car, and I didn't know what it was. She said you let them ride in your wheeled chair, and Uncle Jack would push them, and they'd pretend they were driving a car."

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "Did she tell you why I needed a wheelchair then?"

George nodded. "She said that when you were a soldier, you hurt your back, and your legs stopped working, and you needed a wheeled chair." He paused, watching for Matthew's reaction.

"Yes, that's right. But then I learned to walk again."

George thought a minute. "But how could you need to learn again when you already learned when you were a baby?"

Matthew smiled. "Do you know? That's just what Teddy said!" George's eyes widened, and his cheeks flushed with pleasure—Teddy hung the moon, as far as he was concerned. "My legs had forgotten what to do, so I had to learn again."

George took this in, then asked, "Why did Charlotte say you had bars on your legs and used funny sticks."

Matthew nodded, "The bars are called leg braces. Wearing them and using special sticks helped me to walk when my legs were still weak." He ruffled George's hair. "But I can walk just fine now, so you needn't worry." He regarded his eldest with a concerned smile. "_Have_ you been worried about me all this time?"

George shook his head. "No, because Teddy told me not to worry _(Bless you, Ted!)_, and Charlotte didn't talk about it again, so I thought she made it up. And then I forgot and didn't 'member 'til I heard Mummy talking to Wally."

"Oh, Georgie," Matthew said softly, "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right, Daddy. It scared me to think you couldn't walk," George whispered, as if sharing a secret. "I think it wouldn't scare me now. Well, maybe the littlest bit," he amended honestly.

His throat tight, Matthew pulled George down to his chest, holding him tightly. After a moment, he began, "OK, pardner, I have an idea."

"OK, pardner, what is it?" George asked, sitting up.

"Do you remember the poem, _The Land of Counterpane_, about the boy who's sick in bed?"

"Yes!" George nodded.

"Well, I'm feeling rather like that boy right now. So, how about you bring your village and train here and set everything up on my counterpane? Look," he gestured at his body and legs, "I can even provide hills and mountains! What do you say?"

George hopped off the bed. "I'll be right back!"

Matthew heaved a sigh as he watched George run out of the room, then closed his eyes, weary after seeing his son so distressed.

But it was only a few minutes before George returned carrying a blanket bundle, which he plopped down at the foot of the bed, opening it to reveal the train and village, as well as a few other toys and some books. He immediately began setting the village up, Matthew making suggestions now and then.

"Does your back hurt, Daddy?" George asked, arranging a row of houses.

"Not too bad. It just doesn't want to move," Matthew replied, setting the church so that it was standing straight, then adjusting a bit of fence in front of a house.

Just as George was ready to start moving the train, the bedroom door flew open. "Daddy!" Catherine cried, trotting over to the bed, her arms filled with her new boxed tea set, two dolls and a stuffed rabbit. She threw everything down on the bed, then took Matthew's face in her chubby hands. "I want to play, too!" she nodded, her dark curls bobbing, then she opened the box and began setting out teacups and saucers.

"Cathy, you can't! You're in the way of the train!" George cried in frustration.

"Sir, I'm so sorry!" Wally was at the open door. "Lady Mary and I have been so preoccupied with poor Master Robbie. Master George, Miss Catherine! Your father needs his rest!"

Matthew held up a hand. "No, no, Wally, it was my idea, it's—."

"Not Cathy!" George protested.

"Well now, George, how about Cathy sets up the tea party at that end of the bed." Matthew pointed to the foot on Mary's side. "Surely, there's plenty of room there."

George frowned. "All right," he acknowledged grudgingly.

Wally watched as Catherine moved her dishes and dolls to the foot of the bed. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Very sure," Matthew grinned.

.

Half an hour later, Mary entered the room, carrying poor Robbie, followed by Paul Phillips, who was pushing Matthew's wheelchair. Both stopped short, taking in The Land of Counterpane:

Matthew had a teacup and saucer resting on his chest. The village had been divided so that a part was on either side of his body, and the train made its way up and down over his stomach and legs, going to and fro. There was quite the tea party at the foot of the bed, the two dolls and stuffed rabbit having been joined by another doll, a bear, and a rag clown, Cathy chattering happily whilst pouring from her teapot.

"Well, you seem to be in good hands," Paul laughed, coming over to the bed and shaking Matthew's hand.

"I am, indeed," Matthew grinned. "Thanks, awfully, for coming so quickly, Paul." He looked up at Mary. "How's Robbie?"

Mary sighed. "He's a bit feverish and has to be held, otherwise he won't stop crying." She raised a brow, surveying the playland. "I see you've managed without me."

"Yes, George and Cathy have taken good care of me."

But George had been eyeing the wheelchair in wonder. "Is that it, Daddy?" he asked excitedly.

Matthew smiled, nodding. "That it is, Georgie."

"Daddy, can_ we_ play Car?" George asked.

"Of course!" Matthew laughed.

Mary looked at Matthew, quite startled. "How did he—did you—?"

Matthew held up a hand to stop her. "I'll explain." Then he looked at Paul. "Mr. Phillips. There is a tradition of children riding in this chair and playing that they are driving a car. Would you be so good as to be the 'engine' so that George and Cathy can take it for a spin?"

"Why, I'd be most happy to!" Paul smiled, turning the chair.

George climbed up onto the seat. "Come on, Cathy!" he called. After a moment's confused hesitation, she joined him, carrying her favorite doll, and Phillips set off through the door and down the long hall, George making engine noises and pretending to turn a steering wheel.

Mary watched them go, then sat down on her side of the bed, removing the teacup and saucer from her husband's chest, then placing a blanket and laying Robbie down. He cried out, then whimpered as he snuggled against Matthew. Cradling him with one arm, Matthew brought his other hand up, inserting a finger into the baby's mouth to feel his swollen gums. Robbie immediately pressed down hard, then started sucking. "It's got to be soon," Matthew murmured.

Mary lay back, trying to avoid the village that George had set up on that side of the bed. "I certainly hope so. Ow!" She removed the church whose steeple was poking her rib cage.

"How are you feeling?" Mary asked solicitously.

"Not too bad, all things considered. There isn't much pain, and children have been a wonderful distraction."

"So did _you_ tell George about playing Car?"

Matthew stopped patting Robbie and took up her hand, kissing it, then holding it against his cheek. "It's quite a story, and I'll tell you, but first—" he stopped, holding her eyes. "I was feeling more than a bit sorry for myself, earlier, you know. Here I am, flat on my back again. And, I admit it, I _hate_ the thought of having to sit in that chair again, even for an hour. But George has made me remember that this is just a bump in the road. I'm so lucky, Mary, so blessed." He squeezed her hand.

Mary turned on her side, kissing his temple. "We both are, my darling, we both are." She settled next to him, her arm coming over Robbie. "And, I think you are allowed to feel sorry for yourself, but I'm glad your perspective is what it is."

Before Matthew could begin to relate his conversation with George, the Car burst through the bedroom doorway, George and Cathy shrieking with laughter. George hopped out of the chair and ran up to the bed.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed. "Charlotte was right! Car is the _best_ game! _Can_ we go again? _Please!"_

Mary pushed up on an arm, "Charlotte?" she asked in complete surprise.

Matthew shrugged and nodded. "Yes, Charlotte. Hang on. Sit down, Cathy!" Matthew warned, his daughter having stood up in the chair, just as Charlotte had done at the same age. Catherine obeyed immediately. Matthew raised his brows and looked over at Paul, who nodded, grinning. Matthew turned to George, "You must ask Mr. Phillips if he has the energy to be your engine again."

"Please, Mr. Phillips, can you be our engine again?" George asked.

"Absolutely," Paul replied. "Ready when you are!

"Hooray!" George ran back and climbed in, and they were off.

Mary looked at Matthew. "Start at the beginning."

_Which beginning_, he thought: _George today, or Charlotte last summer, or Teddy all those years ago in the park?_ After a moment, he began: "Do you remember when Teddy first saw me in my chair?"

.

December 28, 1923

"Daddy?" George had opened the door a crack. "Can I come in?"

Matthew, in robe, pajamas and slippers, his lap covered by a rug, couldn't turn his chair, which Bates had parked next to the window with the best view of the downs, his back to the room. So he called over his shoulder, "Just what I need!" He marked the place in his book, setting it on the table next to his chair, waiting for his son.

George trotted up. He was carrying a book in one hand, and placed the other on his father's arm. "How are you feeling, Daddy?"

"Much, much better, Georgie, now that I can be out of bed some," Matthew smiled. "I even walked a bit, with Mr. Phillips's help."

"Good," George nodded.

Matthew inclined his head toward the window. "Why aren't you out there playing with Uncle Tom, Cathy and Sybbie?" he asked, as shrieks of laughter reached their ears.

"Mummy said you were in your chair, so I wanted to be your company," George nodded, taking in his father from head to toe_. _

_And wanted to see what I looked like sitting here. I would, too, if I were you. _"I'm afraid I'll need the chair for a few more days, though, pardner." He watched George intently to see if that seemed to bother him. It didn't.

"That's OK, pardner."

Matthew smiled, then glanced at the book. "Ah, shall we read some poems, then?"

"Yes, please."

"Would you like to sit on my lap?"

George eyed the rug covering his legs skeptically. "Won't it hurt?"

Matthew shook his head. "No, not at all. But I can't help lift you up yet. Can you get up by yourself?"

"Course, I can," George stated, holding on to the chair arms to help pull himself up.

"All right," said Matthew taking up the book, an arm coming around George, "which one shall we start with?"

George flipped through the pages. "This one," he said, pointing to the picture of a boy sick in bed, his toys spread out before him.

"Yes, of course," Matthew smiled.

George leaned back against his father, who began to read:

_The Land of Counterpane_

_When I was sick and lay a-bed,__  
__I had two pillows at my head,__  
__And all my toys beside me lay,__  
__To keep me happy all the day._

_And sometimes for an hour or so__  
__I watched my leaden soldiers go,__  
__With different uniforms and drills,__  
__Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;_

_And sometimes sent my ships in fleets__  
__All up and down among the sheets;__  
__Or brought my trees and houses out,__  
__And planted cities all about._

_I was the giant great and still__  
__That sits upon the pillow-hill,__  
__And sees before him, dale and plain,__  
__The pleasant land of counterpane._

George looked up. "Can we play Counterpane again when you're in bed later?"

"I'm counting on it," Matthew smiled.

"And when you aren't using your chair, can we play Car? Uncle Tom said he'd push us. And Sybbie wants to play, too."

Matthew laughed. "Yes," he smiled. "And one day soon, when my back is better, _I'll_ be the engine. Now, choose another poem."

* * *

_(On a cold and damp day, at a time when she was having some problems with her back, the author herself, at age 19!, was, one morning, unable to get out of bed! Fortunately, after a lot of aspirin and hot water bottles, her situation resolved by the next day, although she was very stiff. Of course, unlike Matthew, she had not previously suffered a devastating war injury. But she did, like Matthew, feel a pinging sensation of spiderwebs breaking across her back.)_

_"The Land of Counterpane" is a poem in the wonderful A Child's Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson._

_Thank you so much for reading! Reviews are like Christmas!_


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